Bullseye Beyond | D3 {CBD 3/3} FIN

Some people suppose I'm just quiet, which I suppose, in a way, I am. I can no longer speak a single word. I could, when I was younger. My twin brother and I used to speak with each other all the time, running around and screaming while we played. Screaming. That was the trouble. Although it wasn't just from our times of play, I stressed my vocal chords too much, causing nodules to form and eventually permanently damage them, rendering me mute. Had I been living in the Capitol, I could have had surgery to remove the nodules to prevent it, but I don't, so here I am in my fourth year of being unable to speak.

It's actually quite difficult, not being able to communicate verbally. I can't tell people how I'm feeling with words. Tears flowing from my sea green eyes can tell someone I'm sad. Hiding my face behind my long, messy, brown hair can tell them I want to be alone. I can communicate most emotions in my own way, but there are some things I just can't tell people because I'm completely incapable of speech. People sometimes make fun of me for it, when they find out I'm mute. My best friend, Woody, stands up for me, though. He's almost always by my side to do that. Although, sometimes I feel guilty that I can't do it myself. I suppose that's why I get so depressed and down on myself sometimes.

I just want to speak again. Why is that so much to ask?